


Match Game

by ActualHurry



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Fighting Kink, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, post-reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 20:28:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16817884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActualHurry/pseuds/ActualHurry
Summary: Shin plays a round of Gambit.(Takes place post-reveal of the Renegade as Shin.)





	Match Game

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired partially by some of Agent_24's Shin/Drifter WIP. :)

Usually, Shin kept a close eye on the Drifter. If not by himself, then he had Shaxx filling him in on all of the details. Log after log, the comings and goings, the lists of Guardians sliding beneath that gate to earn their title. A title that meant nothing, Shin thought, and found himself laughing about it in some dark, bitter way. It meant absolutely nothing, and they wore the name _Dredgen_ with such pride. Time made the past’s tragedies lose some of their sting, but Shin felt it like a thorn in his side anyway.

Shaxx’s latest report back to him didn’t satisfy the itch, though. Shin knew better than to swing by the Tower, and with a dead end leading him nowhere to the next real Dredgen to worry about, Shin found himself restless.

He knew what he was going to do before his Ghost ever gave him that _look_.

“It’s not a good idea,” it said unhappily.

Shin fixed his new cloak around his shoulders. It was the cloak Drifter handed out to Guardians in Gambit; _Ancient Apocalypse,_ he’d called it. Well, Shin had nicked one a while back and never donned it. May as well get the use out of it now. “No, it’s not.”

“You’ve changed,” Ghost said, its voice clear in his ears as it disappeared from view.

Shin paused only a second in his last minute preparations, tucking a Duke Mk. 44 into a holster once he started moving again.

Playing Gambit was something Drifter had always pressed him to try, enticing him with the promise of double motes. When that hadn’t caught the Renegade’s interest, Drifter had offered _half_ value motes, as if the idea of a challenge would make him come ‘round as a player. But Shin had never taken the bait, and Drifter had only shrugged his shoulders with a shrewd look. _One day,_ Drifter had said to him in his ear, pressing him against the wall, clever hands flicking belts loose and armor open, and Shin had shaken his head and made him moan instead.

Better late than never, he figured, standing on his transmat pad with three other Guardians on his side. One Warlock, another Hunter, a Titan. And him.

“Nice cloak,” said the Hunter, clearly admiring. She had Ahamkara bones plated in silver adorning her arms, fingers like claws gripping her rifle.

“It was a gift,” Shin replied, smiling slightly beneath his helmet. The other Hunter hummed with amused understanding while the Warlock shook his head.

“Welcome to Gambit!” announced the Drifter, walking across the catwalk. Shin watched him acutely, tracked every footstep with his eyes. Drifter’s attention roamed first over the opposing team (two Titans, two Warlocks, interesting) and then over theirs, gaze sticking on Shin for a heartbeat longer than the rest. If he recognized him in this different armor, scavenged off the Tangled Shore, he was good at hiding it. “Let’s see what we got.”

He flipped the coin. Shin watched it sail through the air and come back down, Fallen side up. He tuned Drifter out then, looking across the gap to the other team.

Shin had played Crucible once or twice. He’d been good at it, caught Shaxx’s eye almost in an instant, and then introduced himself as the Renegade first. Shaxx had known better, was maybe the only person that’d caught him in his half-truth since he started hiding his identity.

In the end there was really no difference between shooting a Dreg and shooting a Guardian. Only thing was one was a little better at shooting back.

“Transmat ready,” Drifter said, and down to the arena they went.

It was a little unfair that Shin had helped set these arenas up. He knew this broken cavern in the Shore forwards and backwards, knew which pillars to hop onto to make it across the sulfuric gaps, knew the launch portals’ perfect jump to get himself from the Slums side to the Canal. _Bang-bang-bang,_ down went a Servitor, three Vandals, a group of Shanks. It was easy as breathing. Paying no mind to the comms, he just ran, pulled his trigger, picked up those motes (and he knew damn well they weren’t made of _Light_ ). Shin killed the two blockers waiting by the Bank without breaking a sweat, banked fifteen motes, then ten more, and watched that Invader portal come alive with darkness.

“You should go,” said the Titan, tossing in five motes of her own. “You’re good. We’ll hold down things here.”

Shin swapped to his sniper rifle. “Sure?”

“Might be the best Gambit player I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been playing since the damn Drifter showed up,” the Titan told him. “Go on. Get us a team wipe, why don’t you.”

The way she said it made it clear that she fully expected Shin to come back with four notches on his belt.

He jumped through the portal and instantly tasted something sharp on the back of his tongue, almost like blood. It felt – _wrong_ , somehow, bitter and angry and _hungry_ , and he almost lurched before shaking it off and moving forward to a better position. This team didn’t even have the portal up yet; they were sitting ducks, whittling down the Ogre he’d sent their way.

“Re-ne-gade,” drawled a familiar voice in his ear as he looked down his scope.

“Drifter. You’ve been quiet this match.” Shin didn’t miss a beat. Just fired and took one Guardian out, a bullet through the head. The others scattered, but he was a patient hunter. “You got me on a private channel?”

“What’s it matter? You’re in my playground now, Shin.”

That was a yes. Shin took another shot, bursted down the Guardian’s shield with a body shot, then followed up with a second shot. He heard Drifter suck in a breath. “Reckon it’s my playground now.”

“Reckon you got an unfair advantage,” Drifter murmured.

“So dock half my motes.” Shin drew his hand cannon as the third Guardian rushed him. He didn’t have a chance. Three down.

Drifter sounded agitated – or interested, maybe – as Shin took one last fadeaway sniper shot to the last Guardian who ran to cover a little too late: “Try not to make my players feel too bad about themselves. I need ‘em to come back for more.”

The darkness faded from edges of his vision as he was teleported back to his side. Shin took what felt like his first breath in the whole thirty seconds he was gone. Four kills. He checked the score; fifty to nothing.

The Titan, running back to the Bank, gave him a nod. The portal lit up again.

Before Shin thought twice, he jumped back in.

“You’re takin’ to this pretty quick,” murmured the Drifter. “Dangerous for a man like you, don't cha think.”

“Shut up,” Shin said, running through the Canal towards the launch portal. His fingers warmed, tips to palm. The hunger burned in his chest, made him want and _want_ , and Drifter’s voice wasn’t helping. “You’re distracting me.”

“Feeling’s mutual.”

Shin’s hand lit, flashed hot – and his Golden Gun appeared in his palm, quick as could be. He launched himself overhead and fired three shots as he sailed across the map, took out one Guardian with each pull of the trigger, caught the tail-end sight of their motes flickering out.

The fourth Guardian – a Hunter – threw a set of knives at him. Shin shot two out of the air with his hand cannon, took one to the arm, and then did the other Hunter a mercy: two shots to the chest and his own knife, dug right into her throat.

He panted back on his own side of the game, fingers clenching and unclenching around nothing. He hadn’t felt a thing, but whether it was the overshield or the thoughtless ease, he didn’t know.

“Huh,” Drifter said, and that was all.

Their Primeval went down fast, his team rushing headlong to victory. Only once were they invaded; Shin put the Invader down with a well-timed sniper shot, blood rushing in his ears.

The opposing team didn’t even stay for the second round. They all appeared on the Derelict once more, and Drifter only shrugged and pointed at the empty spots across the way from them.

“Winners by default,” Drifter told them, a smile like venom on his face. “Check with your postmaster for your loot. I’ll be seein’ you.”

Shin knew better than to go anywhere. He waited, nodded his farewells to his once-allies and watched them disappear one by one. Drifter stared at him from above, leaned forward with his elbows on the railing. Putting his guns away, Shin let the helmet come off with them, sent them all to his vault (much to the distaste of his Ghost).

Drifter’s expression didn’t change. He just looked him over thoughtfully.

“Made me lose out on a lotta motes by scarin’ them off,” Drifter said slowly.

“You’ll make ‘em back,” Shin said.

Drifter pushed off from the rail. Stepped down the stairs leading to the transmat area. Shin stayed where he was, watchful as ever. “Why’re you here?”

“I wanted to play.”

“Bullshit,” snapped Drifter, getting closer. “I don’t got anything for you, Malphur –”

Shin grabbed Drifter’s wrist before he could pull out his gun, a little impressed by the quickness behind it. Like he’d ever _say_ it. He twisted, made Drifter snarl a sound out, then yanked him near, closed the rest of the distance between them.

“No, no,” Drifter went on, “you aren’t here to _play_ ,” and he kissed Shin, hard and open-mouthed, pushed back until they were up against the shield separating this side from the open space between transmat areas. “You’re here for a fight,” he growled against his mouth, and heat spiraled down into Shin’s stomach.

It devolved from there. Shin let himself be pressed back so long as he was being kissed, only stopping things when Drifter went for the knife at his hip. Shin bit him in the lip hard until he tasted blood, grabbed the knife himself, let it turn hot in his hand, enough to cut through Drifter’s belts. Drifter pulled the back of his cloak so hard that Shin’s head slammed into the boundary wall, made him see stars. And then they were in the floor, scrambling for the dropped knife, Drifter dragging him down, both of them landing hard on one of the transmat plates –

And then Drifter was on top of him, knife in hand and Shin’s boot heels digging into Kell’s Grave dirt.

“You can do better than that,” Drifter breathed down at him, the knife tip against Shin’s throat. “I’ve seen you do better than that.”

“Maybe I’m where I wanna be,” Shin said.

Drifter blinked. Then he grinned something just as sharp as the knife. “Damn _freak_ –”

He might have had the upper hand, but Shin was faster. He flipped them and wrapped fingers tight around Drifter’s wrist, pinned that arm down to the ground. Drifter punched him in the nose, and it was so unexpected that Shin jolted back, felt blood start to drip down. This wasn’t clean, wasn’t like any of his invades, it was rolling in the dirt and getting bloody together and when Shin kissed him it tasted like dust and metal and like everything he’d come here to find.

Drifter wormed his arm free, raised the knife to his neck again only to cut the cloak free from Shin, tossed it in the dirt and then tossed _Shin_ onto it too. It was nearly thoughtful, keeping him out of the dirt, but Shin didn’t give a damn. He turned his head and spat blood on the ground. Wiped it off his face with the back of his glove.

“How do you want it, hero?” Drifter asked above him, lazylike. He flipped the knife, end over end, caught it expertly.

Shin refused to tell him that it made heat pool in his stomach, just squirming out of his pants, only getting them halfway off before he kicked Drifter in the side and said in a near-growl, “I don’t _care_.”

Drifter coughed a laugh and dropped the knife in favor of following Shin’s lead, getting on top of him and kissing him meanly right after. The blood in his nose made it hard to breathe between kisses – Shin gasped, strangled for it, but Drifter didn’t quit, just chased his lips and made him work for it. It was only when his head started spinning and the world got too fuzzy that Drifter let him gasp in air. Shin glared at him, half-dazed.

“Easy,” Drifter purred, slicking up his fingers, and Shin didn’t know where he’d gotten it from, transmat or pocket, didn’t matter – he arched up as Drifter fucked two fingers into him. “How’d you like it?”

It took Shin a second to catch on. “What?”

“Your taste of Gambit. Invadin’. Takin’ out other Guardians.” Drifter leaned down low, biting against his neck. Shin tilted his chin up to let him at it, hissing when Drifter went down to the knuckles in him. “I know you liked it. Wouldn’t’ve done it again if you hadn’t.”

“I was tryin’ to win,” Shin rasped.

Drifter splayed his fingers, made him jolt with pleasure, laughed against his throat. “Keep tellin’ yourself that, Shin.”

Shin didn’t tell him that hunger still burned somewhere in him, hadn’t quite left yet. He spread his knees, let Drifter push his cock into him with a bitten-off groan. Drifter pulled his legs closer, pushed their hips flush. Shin choked out a curse and shot a hand up to fist Drifter’s necklace, pulled his face down close again even as he protested.

“ _Move_ ,” Shin told him between gritted teeth, and Drifter’s answering grin (victorious, smug, mocking) was ruined when their lips met, tacky with dried blood.

Drifter fucked into him fast and hard, didn’t let up even when he made Shin’s spine arch tight until he came a few thrusts later with a long shiver, still gripping that necklace hard in his fingers. Drifter pressed his forehead against Shin’s shoulder and kept going, got Shin trembling until he fell over that edge too, still moving his hips to make him messy with it.

Shin panted for air in the comedown, fingers slipping loose from the pendant, grumbling as Drifter dropped his weight on top of him to catch his breath.

“Don’t know if I’ve ever met anyone pathetic as you,” Drifter muttered a few moments later, lips against his ear.

Shin tensed, then shoved Drifter off of him. “You wanna elaborate?”

Drifter, laying on his back in the dirt, rolled eyes over to look at him. The pity there was enough to make Shin’s shoulders tighten, a scowl replacing anything sated remaining on his face.

“Your pillow talk needs work,” Shin finally said, sharp, already pulling his pants back up. He felt like a fucking mess; he needed three showers and then some.

“You see any pillows ‘round here? Figured you’d want the honesty.”

“Didn’t ask for your opinion. I got what I came for already.”

“Sure, you did.” Drifter hadn’t moved, just watching him from his place on the ground. He propped himself up on his elbows as Shin stood, pausing as he gave a long glance over Shin’s form. “You’re a wreck. Go look at yourself in a mirror sometime. Think about it.”

Shin retrieved his knife, slotting it into the sheath again. He was about to leave, transmat off to his own ship again, when Drifter dropped back to the dirt, shrugging there.

“And then come find me again when you figure it out,” Drifter said, dismissing him.

Shin left and didn’t look back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
